Tag: writing process

Computational Hardness

I was reading about John Nash and ending up on a quest to read more about computational hardness. Computational hardness struck a chord with me about the series I’m writing, Incomplete States.

In computational complexity theory, a computational hardness assumption is the hypothesis that a particular problem cannot be solved efficiently (where efficiently typically means “in polynomial time”). It is not known how to prove (unconditional) hardness for essentially any useful problem. Instead, computer scientists rely on reductions to formally relate the hardness of a new or complicated problem to a computational hardness assumption about a problem that is better-understood.

h/t to Wikipedia.org

The basic foundation about the Incomplete States series involves the arrows of time and character interaction through the framework known and accepted as reality. As I played with the concept behind the series, experienced epiphanies, and evolved my understanding of the concept I wrote about on a fictional stage, I struggled with the ending. I didn’t want me (or readers) to finish the series and say, “Well, that was a waste of time.” I eventually conceived of an ending that matched the story-telling, an ending that I could accept as a writer, and would probably be accepted by most readers. By that, I mean there’s a satisfactory completeness, if not a conclusion and closure in the traditional sense.

Sounds like science fiction. You could call it that. You can also call it speculative fiction.

Haruki Murakami

See, at my core, even though I’m an organic writer, I seek order and structure to what I’m writing and doing, something that defines the path(s) that I’m following and establishes goals. That helped me put my ass in a seat in front of a computer, type, revise, and edit day after day for the past two years. Computational hardness assumptions and falsifiability helped me understand that what I was doing as I was writing the interacting, nested, and overarching stories of the six main characters in the four novels in Incomplete States was processing reductions, creating and transferring problems to other problems.

In essence, the problems presented couldn’t be solved, but creating and transferring the problems to other problems helped elaborate on the problem for the me (the writer), the characters, and the reader. Doing this enabled me to eliminate solutions for the three of us, and drive and narrow focus. Through the characters and stories, I would go through best, worst, and average case resolutions for them for a given path being followed.

“The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.”

The beta draft is almost finished. With it done, I’ll have a much fuller understanding of what I set out to do. When I read the million words of output, I’ll see where I deviated or failed. Then I’ll be able to further shape, refine, and reduce the story that the series tells.

It’s been a challenging series to write. It feels like the series has absorbed much of my life energy. As I draw close to completing the beta draft, I’m eager to be done, and sad that this part is almost finished.

This part is the imagining. This part is where I plunged into the deepest oceans of creativity, diving down until I ideas and stories crushed me. Then I surfaced, sucked in a deep breath, and plunged in again.

This part was so much fun.

I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm doing it really, really well!!!

As I wrote, I created a document called “Epiphany”. It’s a compass to help me sort thoughts and establish consistently on a macro level. I developed thirteen epiphanies as I wrote the series.

The epiphany that grew as the greatest one to keep in mind was, “The key to consistency is consistent inconsistency.” Frankly, it scares me. I get anxious thinking about those words. It seems like an oxymoron, yet, once established, I was surprised how well it works. I imagine readers writing it and clearly understanding what and why is going on. It doesn’t just spring up; I like my readers to think for themselves.

Douglas Adams

My coffee is at hand and my ass is in the chair. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

 

 

1

The Loops

The characters have become weary and cynical near the end of the Incomplete States series. I wonder how much they influence me and the converse. It’s an interesting loop on its own.

But of course I taste what they feel. It’s necessary. Regardless of my process, whether it’s all deeply in me and I’m mining the story, or it’s being fed to me or channeled through me from some other existence, as it sometimes feels (thanks to the power of focus and imagination), I taste the words, and they affect me.

Balancing the scales, writing and progress continues, and I’m enjoying it. It’s an empowering experience. (The end is nigh!) Thinking about it, it’s almost the opposite of the Doom Loop. It’s the Success Loop. (Weird that as long as I’ve heard of the Doom Loop, I’ve never thought about the Success Loop. I looked it up, confirming, yes, such a creature exists – of course.)

Like the Doom Loop, the Success Loop is a spiral. But where the Doom Loop takes you down (because you expect less, so you try less, etc.), the Success Loop lifts you up. You’re building on what you’ve achieved, adding success. As success is added, success is expected, so you work harder for that success. You learn to know and love the taste and feel of success, and the power and confidence that it generates.

The Success Loop is often a strong but fragile thing in a writer. Like a spider web, it has impressive strength for what it is, but like a web, it’s easily broken. If I’m an average writer and others are like me, we worry about not having enough talent, skill, luck, drive, energy, or time to be the writer that we think we can be, that we want to be. We’re always worried that we’ll fall short.

That’s not bad. Those worries anger and inflame me, often encouraging me, try harder, work harder, and do not give up. 

The characters have become grittier as I come to the end. “I want to reach the end,” they tell themselves and one another. “This must be ended.” And they push, and push, thinking that they can succeed.

In this case, I know more than them. I know the ending. It’s been written. All of this action is the final bridge to what will be, what already is. What they do now will not affect their ending.

I think that with such confidence, knowing how I’m tricking myself. These are written words. They’re subject to change. Especially once editing and revising begins.

As a final loop, I wonder, has my ending been written? Is what I’m trying to write and achieve all for nothing because my destiny is established and sealed, and nothing will change it?

Maybe, but perhaps not. Perhaps there multiple loops.

Maybe I’ll leap onto one of those.

It’s been a good day of writing like crazy, once again. I’m hungry, the coffee is gone, and, man, my butt feels sore.

Time to go on to other things.

For now.

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The Writing Adventure

I slipped into the groove today when I was writing. It’s a fun, satisfying, and rewarding place to be. Words fly and the story unfolds with that amazing sense that I’m transcribing what I’m watching. Finishing is a little sad because it was so enjoyable. I sit for a while, reading what I’ve written, thinking about it, and considering what I know comes next. I’m doing that to kill time because I wrote so fast, with such focus, that most of my coffee remains. I only wrote for about fifty minutes, but wrote fourteen pages, about three thousand words.

My fingers are tired. Looking around the coffee shop, I feel disconnected from this place  and uncertain if it’s real. These people and this place aren’t as dynamic as the characters and setting that I just left, but then, these folks are concerned about seeing plays, the weather, and what to eat. None of them seem intent on saving someone else. Maybe they’re hiding it well.

Good day of writing like crazy. Time to return to life’s mundanities.

2

The Walls

Thinking about what I’m doing in my writing and thinking, and writing and posting to understand what I’m thinking and writing.

See, I had to leave my characters behind and scale the walls once again. First I did it while I was walking, but once I glimpsed the territory, I needed to map it out on paper.

I don’t know if you’re familiar with the walls. I’ve never heard other writers use the expression as I use it. The walls establish the characters’ limits of knowledge. They’re different for each character — all remember, realize, experience, or know different aspects than others.

Beyond the walls are the other events taking place that will affect the characters. How much is happening and what you, the writer, decides to share, depends on the story you’re telling. For examples, walls are frequently employed in sitcoms. One character establishes some half-ass fact or understanding predicated on misheard or overheard information, or glimpse something and make a wrong assumption, initiating a chain of misguided decisions. We, the audience, knows what’s going on beyond the wall. That sets up the humor.

We see the walls in the Jason Bourne movie franchise, where many walls are employed, torn down, or penetrated. Secrecy, security, dirty histories, and personal agendas establish and maintain the walls.

In this series that I’m writing, I use multiple walls. A huge part of what’s going on is happening beyond the walls. It’s stuff that wasn’t told to the characters or the readers. Now, though, the characters are storming the walls. They’re planning to tear them down, so I need to go see what’s happening on the other side. To get to that point, I pulled out pen and notebook. I resort to this methodology when I’m going my craziest. Pen and paper is less permanent, and more fluid and malleable. Typewritten words on screen or paper demands grammar, punctuation, and spelling be followed from years of conditioning. The notebook and pen shouts, “Scribble fight!” And off I go.

Got my coffee, and in position. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

 

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Finishing

I’m reading the third novel in the Dire Earth series by Jason Hough. Like most books that I read, I research the author. I’m curious about who they are.

I liked what I learned about Jason Hough and his writing. The first novel in the series, The Darwin Elevator, was a NaNoWriMo effort in 2008. He didn’t finish it in 2008, though, but kept writing, and found publication for it in 2013. That’s persistence.

Others did it, too, like the author of Water for Elephants, Sara Gruen, Hugh Howey, who wrote Wool, and Erin Morgenstern, author of The Night Circus. Their books were all the results of NaNoWriMo efforts. They didn’t always finish in one November, or in one year. That’s the point: they kept going.

Persistence is invaluable for a writer. Let your vision flow, and let it carry the words. Becoming side-tracked isn’t a problem, as long as you come back and continue. Time isn’t a problem, either; just keep going as the days, months, and years lap you. Endure your self-doubts, and then put them aside and write.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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All Along the Spectrum

I’m bouncing along the spectrum this week, sliding from hopeless negativity into enthusiastic, boundless optimism. 

I know there’s a sweet spot there. Just can’t seem to find that balance.

That’s not overly surprising, and I don’t knowingly let myself fixate on it. ‘Knowingly’ is key, because my mind has created traps that I fall into without realizing, following worn paths that I should avoid, except they’re so damn easy to follow. Do you write fiction or pursue goals and dreams? If so, you might understand what I mean when I refer to these dark, weary paths.

I don’t know all the nuances that trigger my spectrum slides. I have ideas and insights into that process. When I win writing battles, my spirits soar toward the positive end. Good food, a good time, and a surprising compliment can take me there, too. Struggling with writing decisions, events that seem beyond my control, and simple frustration can drag me down into sour, doleful depths.

I know those things. Unseen health issues affect me with sneak attacks. Or, are they health issues? Maybe they’re not. I note, I feel off, and ask myself, what’s going on? Is it too little sleep, something I ate, part of the aging process, the first symptoms of a disease, or intellectual activities affecting my emotional activities affecting my physical activities affecting my spiritual activities affecting my intellectual activities?

Yes, that circle exists. It’s more complex than those few arcs described. That’s the spectrum. It’s not an orderly, linear line, but a circle, perhaps even a mobius. I think of it as a spectrum on a circle. Abstract visualization is one of my strengths, so I turn to it to help me think through things.

Being aware of the circle’s existence, like the monster in the dark, is helpful. Dreams can sometimes help, but last night’s dreams about aliens and seeking understanding seemed to highlight my morass rather than illuminating a way through it. Bummer. Fortunately, finding a satisfying resolution to whatever artistic-writing-intellectual problem is challenging me helps as well.

Today, after dwelling on the dreams during my morning coffee, I did find a satisfying approach to resolving the problem (which, yes, was of a writing nature), feeding my positive energy. It came while I dawdled, putting aside my normal routine to read some fiction and goof off, rather than to go out to walk and write. After just a few pages of distracting my brain with another’s fiction, my sub-conscious announced, aha, and an idea was floated. The solution isn’t fully formed, but has enough substance that I can grasp and shape it into something more and move myself forward.

Knowing this minutiae about myself is helpful to coping with its repercussions and trying to contain it. It’s easy to let these things eat me up, starting a more self-destructive circle. I encountered those when I was younger, when I didn’t know how to sort myself, when the territory that is me was darker and more unknown. I did a lot of destruction to myself and my life in those days. Fortunately, others helped me with patience, kindness, and insights. When I think back on some of the craziness, I gulp with amazement that I’m alive, intact, and not incarcerated.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

3

The Plot Web

Yesterday developed into a sensational writing day, one of those joyful experience that has me shouting, “This is why I write.” I then want to tell everyone about it, but there’s no one to tell. They wouldn’t understand without extensive background explanation, anyway.

But this is my blog, so I’ll go into some of that here.

Essentially, I’d reach a cross roads. I was calling it a cross roads, but that was a convenient and sloppy label. Every character, backed by a muse, had ideas about where the story was to go at this point. I, the writer, was reluctant to embrace their suggestions. I had my reasons.

That foundation created a few days of slow writing. Slow writing isn’t like slow sex. Slow sex, from my understanding (I’ve never experienced it, being a quick little pecker), is sublime, packing in pleasure. Slow writing, though, is more like using a machete to hack your way through a tropical jungle with drums playing in the background, giant mosquitoes trying to carry you away, and huge snakes hanging from the tree branches.

This was the sort of slow writing, coming at my time of month, that made me think, maybe I should just quit writing. Who would care? Nobody would care! Shit, nobody would notice.

Shit replied to me, “That’s oh so true.”

Which ignited a stream of profanities from me at Shit.

Because there were/are so many directions, the crossroads is really the center of a beautiful  orbital web. Which strand do I pluck and follow?

Naturally, being me and the person that I’ve nurtured and developed for six decades, I over-analyzed it all. I am consistent. That was, of course, the greatest issue with the situation. After realizing for the tenth to the twenty-seventh power time that, creatively, I can’t logically and intelligently analyze it because I’m too deeply mired in the mess, and that I had to just suck it all up and write, damn it, I did so, and enjoyed the result. Naturally, too, the writing took me in unexpected directions that I couldn’t see when I was struggling to decide which way to go. Once again, naturally, I learned, just write.

Naturally, there’s a caveat to all of this.

The caveat is that yesterday’s writing experience set up unreasonable expectations for another glorious day of writing. Of course, that’s coming from my logical, emotional, and hopeful sides, and not from the creative and writing sides. I think I’m d20 die, part of a polyhedral dice existence. Roll me and see what comes up for the day.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

 

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Tricks of the Mind

I ran into a friend who is also a writer. She and I, along with a few others, used to meet for drinks and conversation. All writers, we talked about what we were writing and our writing processes, and complained about the non-writers and our struggles with them. Non-writers are rarely interested in our WIPs and processes. I can appreciate that. I’ve gone into eyes-glazing-over mode when others have gone into explanations about their processes about things like making soap or quilting.

Our outings were wonderfully healthy and happy times. Everyone in the group moved, though, leaving us to find other avenues or go without. I turned to posts like these to help me cope.

When we encountered each other on the street, we resumed our writing relationship, spending fifteen minutes catching up. Both had elsewhere to go, though, so we had to cut the encounter short.

One thing she revealed was that she’d begun using a typewriter to write. She’d slowly stopped writing as much as she used to write, and thought that part of her issue was that she found herself editing as she wrote when she used a computer. That process curtailed her productivity. Typing the work in progress, at this point essentially defining the concept, helped her because she held tangible evidence in her hand each day.

It was an interesting issue and approach. I can relate. Sometimes, when the writing way becomes denser, as it has in the current chapter in progress, tangible progress seems elusive. I type, think, edit, revise, and repeat. It’s not as much fun, but I discover that I still achieve about fifteen hundred words a day. That’s not an amazing amount, but it’s tangible progress.

Once in a while, I’ve returned to writing in a notebook. I consider that much rawer and intense. I’ve done so when I feel like I’m stuck. I usually felt stuck when multiple paths to pursue were available, paralyzing me with indecision and doubt.

In the end, I applaud her typing effort. Whatever it takes to goad yourself to keep writing, you know?

Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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Wandering the Dark

Man, was it dark. At first, I saw and heard very little. When I did hear or see something, I’d type like crazy to capture those impressions. They were the starting position. I thought it was the beginning, but it turned out to be toward the middle.

Hearing people talking and moving, I followed them. Drawing closer to them, I started glimpsing their figures and faces. With greater exposure, I came to understand them. Soon, I could slip into their thinking and understand what they’re doing and their motivations.

But the paths and area remained dark, forcing me to explore. Some paths were easier to follow. Others became dense with forest, slowing me down and forcing me to feel my way. I stumbled over things unseen underfoot, slipped along muddy sections, got stuck, and sometimes fell.

I kept going, though, mapping it all in my mind and typing up details. Sharp turns, switchbacks, parallel paths and hidden ways surprised me. Cliffs and walls were encountered. Following a grade, I climbed to the highest area I found, thinking, from here, I’ll see and know where I’m going. But it looks different from up here. The details aren’t visible from this level. It’s the details that must be known and understood.

Hours of typing become days of typing that developed into weeks, months, and then, years. But at last, I think I fully understand the story problem and solution. I believe I see all the paths and connections. I think I know where everyone went, why they went there, and what happened to them.

Now that I know, I can finish. Finishing, I can begin revising and editing to ensure the story I see at the end, when it’s all been revealed, is the story that I wrote from the beginning.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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